


My Jolly Sailor Bold

by mssrj_335



Series: FinnPoe Purple Prose [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Historical Inaccuracy, Inspired by Music, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsessive Behavior, POV Alternating, POV Finn (Star Wars), Pining, Pirate Finn (Star Wars), Purple Prose, Rescue Missions, Sailor Poe Dameron, Stilted Storytelling, Violence, rose tico is the best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: When Finn receives news of Poe's capture, he sets in motion a desperate plan to get him back.Told in snippets of Finn's search from a third perspective and his ownaka the weird pirate au no one but me asked for
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Finnpoe, Poe Dameron/Finn, Stormpilot - Relationship
Series: FinnPoe Purple Prose [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744870
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	My Jolly Sailor Bold

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in a weird mood alright so full disclosure this is kind of weird

A tune sways over the air, seeming to rock the ship to and fro. Where does it come from? A new hand looks 'round the darkened deck, searching for sound that creeps as tendrils of fog might over creaking wood and whetted bone.

“Ms. Tico.” The hand near dare not speak, murmuring only as the first mate passes close. “What might be that? Sounds as though it might call the dead home, sir.”

They tilt their head toward it anyway. Casts left and right and 'round, looking for, perhaps, a ghost clawing its way back to the living.

“’tis the captain,” Tico returns. “Nothing more.”

The hand shivers to themself and finds the captain bright at the helm, lit in pale moonlight like a ghost himself. “Why’s he hum thus, sir? Callin’ bad luck to us.”

Tico’s face curls up like she doesn’t think the same. “No such thing, sailor. Haul those lines neatly now, and don’t worry on that which won’t concern you.”

_Damn fool._ Mournful songs bring mournful tides. Death. Tico passes on and the hand decides then whatever awaits at the next port is better than what waits here.

—

_“When you go, I fear you won’t return.”_

_Poe smiles, with crooked knuckle tilts his chin back. Tender fingertips dab away a peeking tear. “It’s only a little while, Belovèd. Won’t you think of me? That’s sure to speed my arrival.”_

_He says this last with a roguish wink and Finn laughs, though it’s harsh and wet._

_“Can you promise me that? You know you need not do this. You might live in comfort for all your days if you would only stay. Though if you asked, I’d give up every cent.”_

_It’s the set of Poe’s lip that stops him. To argue is pointless. A conversation they’ve had time and time again. Though unspoken, he knows how the sea plucks Poe’s heart._

_“I’ll return.” That’s the end of it. Still, Poe leans in. Presses a chaste kiss high on Finn’s cheek where he might find it again in the gloom of Poe’s going, promising, “Not even the sea can keep me from you.”_

Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps it sealed his fate. Now, Finn wouldn’t be able to say.

—

Rain lashes firm as a whip, driving the waves higher. Winds pull sails taut and the masts bow as willows might in spring. Perilous sea crashes over the deck and pulls like Death’s hands, dragging those unlucky few down into the deep. The hand’s safety line draws tight as they climb. From the deck, Tico shouts.

“Heave! Now!”

The hand clings tight to the mast but hauls as they must. _They all_ must, or it’ll surely be death. Inch by agonizing inch, the sail rolls to closure. _Bad luck, damned bad luck._ They haven’t seen a storm such as this since their youth. Four ships lost in the harbor, sailors drawn and drowned.

Screaming winds carrying something higher than even the waves. Someone else is speaking now. The hand descends the mast, alongside their mates to the deck.

No.

Someone is _singing_.

“ _From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I’ll wander, weep and moan._ ”

In briefest light, the singer is lit. Lightning flashes an instant, the captain at the helm once more. From afar, he is solid. Unwavering against the storm. But were the hand to stagger close, to beg their captain, as they so wish, to stop, to turn back, they would see manic light that even wild lightning could not compare.

“ _All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home…”_

—

_Poe’s ship was due weeks ago. Along the shore he wanders, Rose on his arm for comfort. Cold wind whips ‘cross his cheeks like so many tears already spent. A pain gnaws through him, hollowing every heartbeat to a dull point._

_“He promised, Rose. Would he break that vow?”_

_“Finn—”_

_The sea’s spray smells traitorous. Gloating. Carrying Poe’s empty words back to him over miles and miles. It draws tight as a noose 'round his neck._

_“Your man meant his word,” Rose soothes. “You mustn’t give up. He wouldn’t.”_

_Finn considers that, turns it in his mind. It rings true. He’d never really doubted, but to consider the alternative—_

_“Perhaps the sea kept him in jealousy. Perhaps an enemy works to detain him still.”_

_Finn misses the worried wrinkle upon Rose’s brow. Later, news arrives. An enemy. Poe’s ship, destroyed. Her men taken prisoner. The letter shakes in his hands and his eyes track it again and again. Rose arrives of an evening; by then he’s decided._

_He poses to her, “Riches are worth only what they may purchase, wouldn’t you say?”_

_Cautious, she asks, “What do you intend to buy?”_

_“A ship.” He stiffens. “Poe’s freedom, whatever the cost.”_

_“You would turn back to it? Piracy,” she hisses._

_Helplessly, he spreads his hands. “Poe meant his word. Now so must I.”_

_For a long moment, she sits silent. He can’t ask it of her, but he does hope._

_“He wouldn’t give up,” she says at last. “And neither will we.”_

—

Smoke. Choking, acrid. Men screaming over the cannon’s rapport in the dark. A surprise attack, well executed by learned hands. A faithful crew, setting their teeth to rend. Though the newest hand stuttered to a halt, enraptured by the carnage as might a rabbit be watching a wolf’s teeth.

At the center of the fray, the captain wheeled and turned. His long blade flashed in gunfire. The ends of his locs smoked as a devil might, and certainly the Devil has his hands in that man. Or perhaps not. The captain’s solid edge did as much to protect his own people as not. The sailor had never seen so fierce a fighter. Nor had they seen so steadfast a cause. Well, the sailor knew why their shipmates stay faithful. Not always did they attack this way, but tonight—

Clearly an enemy has fallen into the midst of vengeance. The captain prowls the deck now, between the dying and the damned. Those unranked he leaves alive, and the hand themself is tasked with others to put those souls in lifeboats, to spare them the sinking ship. But officers—oh. Of them the captain asks a single question. And a name. Again and again until none are left.

“Poe Dameron. Where is he?”

The last chokes, blood clotting his throat like sphagnum coats a corpse. The captain smiles. Such a grin that even the ship shivers amidst her sinking. He returns to his own deck, giving the order for all to be looted. This, the sailor likes. This, they are familiar with. Already the specter of revenge is fading from their mind, replaced at once with a glittering lust. And the captain takes the helm again. Humming his haunting tune.

_True love has grafted my heart, give me my sailor bold…_

It would seem he finally found his answer.

—

_They sail to a colony far from home. They make landfall late but Finn can’t wait any longer._

_“Just until daylight,” Rose pleads. “What difference does a few hours make?”_

_Finn straps what rations he can to his back, fixes his sword to his side. There is nothing that would dissuade him now, he doesn’t know why Rose would try._

_“It makes all the difference.” To me. “I’ll go, and when I find him, I’ll return.”_

_He strides from the cabin to the deck, Rose resolutely behind._

_“I would not ask you to leave,” he says at the head of their gathered crew. He turns pointedly to his friend for the last. “To do so would mean capture. Possibly death.”_

_A brief murmur breaks over the crew. The older members wait patiently._

_“I would ask that you wait. You’ve served me well, and I hope that you would serve me still. I would lead to you riches, freedom, as I have promised. But there is something I must do.”_

_“Would this, sir,” a voice meekly asks, “be the subject of that tide tune so often on your lips?”_

_Finn pins the voice to their newest recruit. And while the voice is tame, Finn recognizes that avaricious eye, seeking the knowledge as though it might drop as heavy coin in their pocket. Perhaps it would, given time._

_“It is,” he simply says. “And I must get him back.”_

_Where he had expected dissent, he’s met with silence. Until—_

_“And if we chose to help you, sir?”_

_While several seasoned hands cut their own eyes suspiciously, Finn cocks his head. Appraising._

_“To any hand that lends their own, to any that secures this man for me, one thousand gold pieces shall be theirs.”_

**_That_ ** _gets him a response. Behind him, Rose sighs. It’s his entire share, but he would pay more if he had it. Perhaps he would, given time._

_He strikes out ahead, leaves instructions with Rose and the others. They’ll wait for daylight. Himself, he hacks through the night. Searching the small island for any trace. Day breaks. His limbs are shaking. But he can’t stop now. On the horizon, thick trees give way to low sloping fields. Squat cabins line together. Guards prowl the perimeter. And in the distance, a familiar shape._

_Can it be?_

_The guards barely last. The distance just minutes more. Shackled prisoners stumble to the field to work, oblivious. But he closes in on that silhouette which knows the lines of his as intimately as shadow. At the last, he has to stop. In part to catch his breath. Another, because his feet simply won’t carry him any farther. Is he real?_

_After all this time?_

_“Poe,” he softly calls._

_Shoulders tense, but don’t turn. Finn’s heart aches._

_“Poe, please.”_

_As if betrayed one too many times, they set resolute. He steps closer still. Hand already outstretched. Begging._

_“My happiness attend you, wherever you may go…”_

_At last,_ **_at last_ ** _—Poe turns. Lips parted already in a sigh that sounds despondent. Though when he sets eyes at last, that sigh turns to gasp._

_“Finn?”_

_It spurs him into motion, makes him sprint the last few feet. Poe, manacled and chained, new and familiar, clings. Over the hill, he hears his crew making way. Tears track Finn’s cheeks, hot at first then frigid in the air, cruel and traitorous as the sea. He cradles Poe’s face, hands shaking, heart racing._

_Poe croaks, harsh in disuse, “How?”_

_“My heart is pierced by Cupid. I disdain all glittering gold…”_

_His sailor’s face splits. Smiles at last. So long he’s coveted, Finn’s almost forgotten what it feels to be whole. Found. Found at last._

_“Still a romantic, my Belovèd?” Poe murmurs. Teasing, a shadow of his former self still present in bondage. “Not even time would cure you?”_

_“There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold…”_


End file.
